We rode through the dimly lit streets until the cobblestones began to fade beneath the carriage wheels. The air turned colder, heavier — carrying that metallic tang of steel and smoke.
Before long, a massive wall loomed before us, swallowing the skyline. Its surface was scarred and blackened, as if it had endured more than just time. Atop it, I could see silhouettes of guards — some leaning on their spears, others scanning the horizon with that hollow, tired look soldiers wear after seeing too much.
The sound of horns echoed faintly beyond the gate.
Looks like the patrols were stationed outside the city, where the abyss monsters came crawling from. Even from this distance, I could feel the unease in the air — a tension that clung to everything like dust.
For a princess to reach the point of asking a random merchant for help… things must be worse than she's letting on.
The carriage slowed as we neared the checkpoint. Torches flickered along the gatehouse, painting the stone in hues of orange and shadow. A soldier approached, saluting sharply when he saw who was inside.
"Open the gate for Princess Anastasha!" he shouted.
The great steel doors groaned open, revealing the world beyond — a field lit by campfires, tents scattered like stars on the ground, and the faint smell of iron, sweat, and ash drifting in the air.
I leaned slightly against the window frame, watching.
If I were here just to deliver supplies, that would've been fine.
But something told me this was more than just a delivery job.
The servant opened the carriage door, bowing slightly as I stepped down onto the dirt. The air hit me like smoke and rust — the scent of blood and burning wood hung heavy.
A young maid hurried toward me, her apron stained and her expression tight with fatigue. "The princess has been waiting for your arrival, Merchant. Please, follow me — quickly."
She didn't wait for my answer. I followed her through the maze of tents, each one dimly lit by lanterns swaying in the wind.
All around, the reality of war played out in silence and groans. Soldiers lay on makeshift beds — some bandaged from head to toe, others trembling as the healers whispered incantations over them. The air was thick with pain, the kind that no spell could fully cure.
I caught a glimpse of a man biting down on a strip of cloth as two medics worked to amputate his leg — a clean cut to stop the rot spreading from a beast's bite. The sound of metal meeting flesh made my stomach twist.
This wasn't the kind of scene a "merchant" like me should be in.
The maid glanced back when she noticed I'd slowed my pace. "Please," she said softly, "Her Highness doesn't like to be kept waiting."
I took a breath, forcing my steps forward again.
The largest tent in the center of the camp came into view — its red banners fluttering with the mark of House Malkiha. Inside, faint voices echoed — low, commanding, and urgent.
Princess Anastasha was already in there. And judging from the tension in the air… this wasn't going to be a simple business transaction.
Should I even enter the tent?
Before I could decide, the maid pulled the flap open — and suddenly I was standing in the middle of a storm.
Arguments clashed louder than the wind outside.
A broad-shouldered man with a beard thick enough to hide half his face slammed his fist on the table. "We have no choice but to fall back! We regroup, resupply, and let the barrier hold the line!"
"Retreating means abandoning the kingdom!" barked an older man, his voice coarse from years of command. "The people can't even manage the harvests, and soldiers are already dropping like flies!"
A woman — perhaps a mage or strategist — spoke next, her tone weary but calm. "Our casualty count is low for now, but the wounded multiply every hour. If this continues, the front will collapse under its own weight."
In the center of it all stood Princess Anastasha. Her red-plated armor gleamed faintly under the lanterns, her hair tied back but damp with sweat. She listened, arms crossed, eyes sharp — like she was trying to carry the entire camp on her shoulders.
"The number of injured keeps increasing," said one."The mages can't hold the barrier much longer," another added."The healers are out of mana," someone else muttered."And the abyssal beasts… they keep coming."
Every voice layered into a single, suffocating truth: the army was losing.
I stood near the entrance, completely out of place — a shopkeeper surrounded by battle-hardened soldiers, trying to look smaller than I already felt.
Then Anastasha spoke, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade.
"Enough," she said. "I know the situation is dire — but shouting won't conjure food or soldiers out of thin air."
Silence fell instantly.
"The army will not retreat," she continued, slamming her palm against the table. "We will resupply and hold this position. The barrier will stand as long as we do."
One of the captains frowned. "And how do you propose we resupply, Princess? We can't spare men to travel back through the valley — every patrol sent that way disappears."
And then… all eyes slowly turned to me.
I could already feel it — the direction this conversation was heading.
Oh, you've got to be kidding me.
"Hello?" I called out, waving my hand like a man trying to calm a pack of wolves. Not sure if that was a good idea.
"And who are you?" the bearded man snapped, stepping forward.
"Simply a humble merchant," I said. "Until this princess hauled me out here."
"Excuse me?" His hand hovered near his sword. "We do not tolerate—"
He moved as if to lunge.
"Merki, stop." Princess Anastasha's voice cut through the tent. She didn't dismiss my words — only corrected the situation. "Although… what he said has some truth."
The elder man scoffed. "How could one slim boy be the solution?"
"This merchant specializes in providing items beyond our usual craft," Anastasha said, smiling like she'd just revealed a winning card.
Great. I've been upgraded from shopkeeper to royal ATM.
The female strategist — the one I'd heard earlier — leaned forward. "So you are the merchant that's been whispered about?"
"That would be me," I confirmed.
"Then what can you do, boy?" the elder demanded.
Why is everyone addressing me like I have three heads?
"I can supply resources," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "But I'm no fighter."
I flicked my fingers, shaped a circle, and snapped. The portal blossomed. The tent filled with the soft shimmer of arrival as I pulled out one item after another — canned goods, packs of dried rations, sturdy cloth, field bandages, heat-treated blades, spare armor pieces, and even a roasted chicken (cooked, non-living, technically legal by my rules).
The generals' faces went from skeptical to stunned.
"So they won't spoil on arrival?" asked Melki, the bearded captain.
"My items come as fresh as I can summon them," I said. "But I don't hand them out for free."
"Hurry — deliver them to the front!" the elder ordered.
Before anyone could move, I made a little show of it and pulled the items back into the portal. Surprise.
The elder lunged anyway, anger in his eyes. Melki grabbed his shoulder and forced him to stay.
"Princess Anastasha," I said quickly, setting a calm tone, "I am a merchant. I sell. I don't give away stock."
Anastasha's gaze didn't flinch. "Then name your price."
I slid a scrap of parchment across the table — a contract. It stated plainly: payment before delivery, protection while on site, and a clause that I could withdraw from any political or military action. My signature was already across the bottom. All I needed was her seal.
She read it, eyes flicking over each line, then looked up. "You are cautious," she observed.
"I like breathing," I answered. "And I don't fancy being dragged into court intrigue or court-martialed for something I didn't authorize."
The tent sat heavy with silence. The battlefield outside hummed like a living thing.
Finally, Anastasha's hand moved — not to draw a sword, but to touch the parchment. "Very well," she said. "Sign here."
I slid the pen toward her and tried not to think about how many ways this could blow up in my face.
Of course I don't do equal terms if my life's on the line.
"So what is the price?" she asked after signing the contract.
"Who knows… maybe after this is over," I replied.
Of course, once the ink dried, I did what I do best.
They moved me to another tent — larger, quieter — and I began pulling out item after item without pause. Crates of weapons, armor, bandages, preserved food, all spilling neatly from the shimmering portal like a silent rain.
A convenient ability, really. No mana drain, no exhaustion. My only limitation was that I couldn't summon anything living. Everything else? Fair game.
Maids hurried to carry the goods to the rest of the army, and before long, the whole camp shifted from chaos to coordination. The groans of the wounded were replaced by the rhythm of rebuilding — swords clashing, orders shouted, fires rekindled.
Then came the horns.
Another wave.
Oh well… not my problem.
"The resources are flowing, and we're now able to fight back," came Princess Anastasha's voice from behind me.
She stepped inside the tent, the crimson sheen of her armor catching the dim lantern light. I was lying on my back by then, one arm propped behind my head, watching the portal do all the work.
"Thanks to you, morale has risen. The soldiers are regaining their spirit."
"Save the thanks," I said lazily. "I'm just doing my job as a merchant. As long as it pays."
"If you possess such a high level of space magic," she asked, folding her arms, "why settle for being a merchant?"
I sighed. Ah, the classic 'hidden potential' question.
"Because this is all I can do," I said. "Unlike others, I can't lead, and I can't fight. So I stay where it's quiet."
"Quiet?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "While lying down in the middle of a war camp?"
"Exactly," I said with a smirk.
She laughed — soft, brief, almost human despite the armor. I hadn't meant to make her laugh.
"This is my final month before transferring to the Empire's Academy," she said after a pause.
Wait. Academy?
Wasn't this supposed to be a political romance novel? Why are we jumping into an academy arc already?
"Would that benefit you?" I asked. "Learning at some prestigious school?"
"Perhaps," she said. "But I'll have to meet my fiancé there, and… take a top position, of course."
Of course. Politics and arranged marriages — staples of the genre.
"Come to think of it," she said, tilting her head, "where is your birthplace?"
"Somewhere far from here," I replied simply. "And no, I can't return. So I fend for myself."
"That's unfortunate," she said. "I thought you came from a noble family."
"Nope," I said. "And I prefer it that way. Nobility seems exhausting."
She smiled faintly, but I could tell her thoughts were elsewhere — maybe on the battle still raging, or the future waiting for her in that academy.
Me? I just closed the portal and stared at the tent's ceiling, wondering which cursed chapter I'd stumbled into this time.
Hopefully not in the route of becoming a main character… but damn, I already ruined it by interacting with a female lead.
A sigh escaped me. A side character would've been nice.
"Right, merchant, I didn't get your name?" Princess Anastasha asked.
Of course she did. They always ask that question when you least want to answer.
"You don't need to know," I said flatly. "After all, this is between a merchant and his client — protection included."
She raised a brow. "So you hide your name out of security?"
"Yes. And I don't think that's a problem."
"Then how old are you? I'm nineteen."
I didn't need that information dump, Princess. Seriously, what is it with characters giving out their biography to strangers?
"Well, I'm also nineteen," I said.
"Then you should come to the academy."
I blinked. "Why would I?"
"It's the Empire's law," she said matter-of-factly. "All citizens aged nineteen, regardless of background or standing, are given the equal right to education."
Wow, how progressive. I almost clapped. Equal right to suffer through imperial lectures, most likely.
"I can refuse it," I said.
"You can try," she replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "But the academy doesn't take 'no' for an answer. Especially not from someone interesting."
Great, I thought. I've officially been flagged as a 'special case.' Congratulations, author — you've done it again.
The wind outside rustled the tent, carrying with it the distant clash of steel and roars of monsters.
And for a moment, I wondered — just how long could a side character like me stay that way?